Whump There It Is
by dragonmactir
Summary: Possibly a preemptive sequel to "Objects in the Rear View Mirror May Appear Closer Than They Are." LASSIET. WHUMPY. Seriously, highly whumpy. Do not enter unless you're prepared for some serious whumpage. Lassiter has an incident.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing of _Psych_ and its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

 **Rating:** T+

 **Spoilers:** Few, but possible at any point through entire series

 **A./N:** This was going to be the whump at the tail end of Objects, but I decided I couldn't do that to Lassy after everything else I'd done to him, and then this morning (Saturday) I saw Pope Francis smile and say, "Pray for me," looking so damned cute, I knew I had to write about it. And thus this was born. Sorry for the whumpage, but there's something I have to have Lassiter do that my father did when he came out of his coma after the aneurysm, the way we knew he was going to be okay (more or less: he never did walk again). Honestly, that one tiny little thing is the sole reason I have to do this to the poor guy. Is that sad, or what? Again, sorry. I _think_ this is a kind of preemptive sequel to Objects, so it is Lassiet. And oh, I don't know what time that particular moment would have been on TV on the West Coast, but I took my best guess judging from what I know of time zones, and based on the fact that I totally forgot what time I was watching TV here in Central Standard. I _think_ it was live.

-…-…-…-

"I'm _always_ up that early, O'Hara. I run. So do you, I would expect."

"I don't run _that_ early. The Pope was on the East Coast! What were you doing watching TV at two o'clock in the morning?"

"Trying to catch some news, but apparently when the _Pope_ is in the US of A, crime and other world events take a holiday."

She sighed. "Carlton. You're Catholic, right?"

"Lapsed."

"You _go_ to Midnight Mass on Christmas. Don't _try_ and pretend you don't."

"Yeah, but that's _all_ I do. Organized religion is just one more way for people with power to put a chokehold on the little man. Anyway, they were reading some letter or something to the Pope, and when it was done, he looked up at the camera, smiled from ear to frickin' ear, and said, 'Pray for me.' He was absolutely _adorable_ , O'Hara, and _I_ don't use words like 'adorable.' You know that."

She giggled into her hand. "Yes, I do know that. But what's the problem? You don't _like_ an adorable Pope?"

"O'Hara. My mother raised me on tales of witch trials and Inquisitions. I'm not equipped to cope with so much as the _concept_ of an adorable Pope."

She sighed and shook her head. "I don't understand what you were doing up that early, Carlton, and I think it's up to me to make sure you get proper sleep at night," she said. "Professionalism and 'taking it slow' is all well and good, but I think I'll have to start spending the nights at your condo and making sure you're well-exercised before bedtime so you sleep through the night."

He cleared his throat and tugged at his tie. "Yes. Well. One can never have too much exercise."

They exited the Santa Barbara Police Department into the bright Santa Barbara sunshine, putting on their aviators almost in unison. On his way into the building, Buzz McNab smiled brightly and nodded to them as they passed. They headed for the blue Crown Victoria in Lassiter's reserved parking space, nodding to other officers as they passed on their way into the building or out to the parking lot, and then…it happened.

" _Hey, Lassiter,"_ someone called, quite loudly. Lassiter's head turned toward the sound immediately.

" _Gun!"_ he shouted, and pushed his partner to the ground while he reached for his own sidearm. Three shots rang out, _POP POP POP,_ flat and oddly cartoonish, indicating a small-caliber weapon. O'Hara was already on her way back to her feet, drawing her gun in the same motion, but Lassiter, to her surprise and horror, was on his way down. With blood on his shirt.

A great deal of blood.

She located the shooter, aimed and fired. She grabbed her radio and called in for assistance. In moments, every officer in the PD who wasn't out on call or patrol was outside in the parking lot surrounding them. Officers rushed to make sure the assailant was down. Others tried to give first aid. Chief Vick had to hustle them aside to let the ambulance through when it arrived minutes later.

Vick grabbed O'Hara's sleeve as the EMTs worked to stabilize Lassiter before moving him.

"What happened here, O'Hara?" she asked. She looked utterly shocked.

Juliet shrugged, stunned. "I don't know, Chief. We were headed to the car, this… _guy_ …called out to Carlton, Carlton pushed me down, and…and…"

The Chief sighed gustily. "Well. He's always saying he's proud of the number of people who want to kill him. I take it this was one of them?"

"I…guess so…" Juliet's shoulders shook and tears began streaming down her face.

Chief Vick patted her on the shoulder. "O'Hara. I know you'll want to follow him to the hospital. I'll be along shortly myself and I'm sure as many officers as can escape their duties will be along as soon as they can. _You've_ got the day: don't worry about anything else but your partner. Now go."

Juliet sniffled and tried to bring herself back under control, or at least some semblance thereof. "Thank you, Chief." She headed for her car and got gone.

-…-…-…-


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing of _Psych_ and its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

 **Rating:** T+

 **Spoilers:** Few, but possible at any point through entire series

 **A/N:** It occurred to me that the Pope did his cute little "Pray for me" thingy on Saturday morning, and I would expect Lassiter gets at least every OTHER weekend off. So how did the dude know to wait for him outside the station on this _particular_ Saturday? I don't know. Just go with it.

-…-…-…-

Paperwork. Insurance forms. She couldn't concentrate on them, but she had to fill them out, because she was Lassiter's medical proxy. He was off somewhere being tended, and as of yet no one could or _would_ tell her _anything_ about his condition. She wasn't even _entirely_ sure that he was alive, because she'd seen them wheeling him through swinging doors while yelling the words _"Code blue!"_ If he died…oh God…

The news was on the TV in the waiting room. She saw Karen on it, looking as collected as ever, but maybe not quite so calm. The reporters were asking her what had happened. The Chief pushed her hair back away from her face and spoke into the microphones.

" _At nine thirty-six a.m. this morning outside the Santa Barbara Police Department, a man identified as Paul Cupp fired three times into the body of Head Detective Carlton Lassiter, who was apparently his target. Both Cupp and Detective Lassiter are currently undergoing emergency treatment at Mercy Hospital. Cupp is stable but we have no word as to Detective Lassiter's current condition as yet. We do not yet know why Cupp targeted our Head Detective."_

Vick sighed, a sound clearly audible over the microphones.

" _Our thoughts and prayers go out to our brother at this time. We are standing by him."_ Vick nodded and stepped away from the thrusting microphones, utterly ignoring the reporters' calls for further questions.

-…-…-…-


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing of _Psych_ and its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

 **Rating:** T+

 **Spoilers:** Few, but possible at any point through entire series

 **A/N:** Yes, I _am_ splitting this thing up into teensy little chapters, at least for the moment. I don't know why. Just feels right.

-…-…-…-

Shawn burst through the door down by the triage center, looked around, spotted Juliet, and ran toward her with his feet hitting him in the ass as he went.

"Jules! How is he? What happened?"

"You made it here before his _mother,"_ Juliet said, dropping her Kleenex into her lap. "Good work, Shawn."

"Jules, I'm serious. Is he gonna be okay?"

"Where's Gus?" she asked.

"At his 'other job,'" Shawn said. "I was in too big a hurry to get here to call him, so I doubt he knows. Guess I could call him now. Jules. How's Lassy?"

"I don't know," she said, very quietly. "No one will tell me anything. Not yet."

"Are you the only one here so far?"

"I haven't called anyone yet. I don't know _who_ to call, but they gave me Carlton's phone, so I _could_ go through his contacts. Chief Vick will have called his mother already, thank God - she's the last person I want to…say _this_ to. I just don't know what to say to people. I don't know yet…whether he's…"

She started to cry again. Shawn put one hand on her shoulder and patted her back with the other. "Jules. Jules. It's okay. It's all gonna be okay, you know? Lassy's gonna be fine, you know that. He's too _tough_ to…to…"

He trailed off, looking stricken. He lowered himself into the chair next to her and looked off into some middle distance, apparently contemplating his own words while he continued to pat her on the back. He was still patting her on the back, while she wept, five minutes later when two women walked into the waiting room. Both were short, both were rather heavy-set. That's where their similarities ended. Juliet knew them at once. Hurriedly, she pulled herself together as best she could.

"Mrs. Lassiter. I'm…I'm so sorry," she said, standing up slowly.

"You. _You._ You're the Affirmative Action, quota-filling _bitch_ they hooked my boy up with. You got him shot, didn't you! You got him _shot!"_

"Myrna. Myrna, calm down. It's gonna be okay, sweetie," Althea said, patting the white-haired Mrs. Lassiter on the back.

Juliet stood, stunned, but not at all surprised, and wondered for a moment exactly what she should - what she _could_ say. Finally, she went with, "I'm sorry, Mrs. Lassiter. I know you're hurting. I can't imagine how much. I…need to go make some calls." And she walked away.

-…-…-…-


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing of _Psych_ and its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

 **Rating:** T+

 **Spoilers:** Few, but possible at any point through entire series

 **A/N:** I swear, there will be meatier chapters when we get past the initial ouchie-stuff. Right now, things feel short and choppy for a reason. What that reason is, I'm not sure, but again, it feels right.

-…-…-…-

There were reporters outside the hospital, waiting. She probably should've seen that coming. Mrs. Lassiter and Althea would've snuck past them by virtue of looking like ordinary hospital-going citizens but Juliet's badge, clipped at her waist and visible beneath her black suit jacket, marked her instantly as someone in the know on the case they were interested in, and microphones were thrust into her face immediately.

"Detective - Detective - do you have any information on Detective Lassiter's condition?"

"There's…been…no word on Detective Lassiter's condition thus far," she said, not looking into the cameras pointed at her. "Excuse me, I have calls to make."

"Oh, but, Detective - Detective - "

She hurried away from the reporters and locked herself inside her car. She sat there and let herself shudder for a moment, with her face in her hand and her elbow on her steering wheel. Then she took a deep breath and fished Lassiter's cell phone out of her purse.

She opened up his Contacts list. First on his speed dial: O'Hara. Despite herself, she smiled. Granted, she'd probably been his first contact for years now, but still: O'Hara, even though they'd been discretely dating for months. She'd had him down as "Carlton" in her cell almost from the beginning of the partnership.

His second contact: Karen. Not unexpected, though the fact that he used her first name instead of calling her "Chief" or just "Vick" was, a little. Third contact was Clark, which she assumed was D.A. Clark, who didn't need to know anything he couldn't get off the news. Fourth was Woody. Woody might have already heard, and it wasn't like they were actual _friends_. Then again, it wasn't like they _weren't._ On Woody's part, at least. A moment's hesitation, and she made the call.

"Lassy, what have you got for me?" Woody said, answering the call with his usual ebullience.

"Oh, so you _haven't_ heard," Juliet said.

"Detective… _O'Hara?"_ Woody said. "Why are you calling me from Detective Lassiter's number?"

"Woody, I…know you're…kind of fond of Detective Lassiter, so I thought I'd better let you know what happened. Carlton…was shot. He's in the hospital. I don't know yet what condition he's in."

"Oh God. That's…that's terrible. What hospital is he at?"

"Mercy."

"Oh, that's good. They've got a great trauma team at Mercy. Um, I know you're gonna be tied up, calling lots of people, being all worried and stuff, but…maybe you could, um…keep me posted? When you know what's what? And I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Yeah, Woody. I'll let you know what I know."

Lassiter didn't have many other contacts. Fifth on the list was "Ma." Sixth was "Lulu." Seventh was "Spencer." Eighth was "Hank." Ninth in line was "John," and Juliet had no idea who that might be. In the final position was "Lincoln," the recently-returned brother, with no speed dial number. The sister in New Jersey wasn't listed: evidently he didn't call her from his cell. That meant she'd probably have to make a run by his condo and hope to God her number was listed somewhere; otherwise she'd probably have to try and get it from Mrs. Lassiter, and that would be just about impossible. Of course, she could let Mrs. Lassiter _herself_ call her daughter about the incident…but that, Juliet knew she could not do. She didn't know the New Jersey sister, other than that her first name was Geena, but she couldn't picture letting _anyone_ get such news from Myrna Lassiter.

Maybe baby sister Lauren - otherwise known as "Lulu" - would give her Geena's number. Or Lincoln. Juliet got along well with Lincoln, and he liked to share information. She doubted Myrna Lassiter would many _any_ calls to her other children of her own volition. She barely seemed to realize they existed.

It was time to get down to business. She had to get his family notified before they saw anything on the news, if possible. That was no way to hear about it.

-…-…-…-


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing of _Psych_ and its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

 **Rating:** T+

 **Spoilers:** Few, but possible at any point through entire series

-…-…-…-

Juliet stood at the glass wall of the waiting room, looking out at the darkened parking lot with its old-fashioned yellowish mercury vapor lights. The sky was pitched black, night having fallen long ago, and still she knew nothing of her partner's condition, despite him having been brought to the ER long hours ago in the morning. She assumed it was relatively good news, this lack of word. If he were dead, _someone_ would have come out and told them.

It wasn't _great_ news, because if he were stable, someone would have come out and told them _that,_ too.

She started crying again, sniffling into the wadded Kleenex she held in her left hand. Francie McNab came up to her and handed her a fresh one, with a comforting pat to the shoulders and a soft, meaningless word. The waiting room was crammed with officers and, in some cases, their families. Woody was there, still in his lab coat, Mrs. Lassiter and Althea, and Hank Mendel sat with his head down and his hands folded together and dangling between his knees while "Miss Annie" hugged his shoulders. Lincoln had his arm around Lauren and her head on his shoulder as they sat in the chairs over underneath the TV up high on the waiting room wall. Aunt Carolyn was off in a corner talking quietly to Henry Spencer. Shawn and Gus were having a heated argument about Chef Boyardee beef ravioli versus Kraft Easy Mac, which Juliet had to think was a lot like comparing apples and oranges. Really… _cheap-tasting_ …apples and oranges, but that was just how they coped. Chief Vick was engaged in a quiet conversation with the "John" from Carlton's contacts list, who turned out to be her predecessor, Chief John Fenich. Dobson and Miller and Sergeant Allen, who was nervously turning a large rose quartz crystal over and over in her fingers while she, too, stared out the window at the dark outside, and Simmons and Fryberg and Jones and Franks and of course McNab. They'd all come to pay their respects or to alleviate their concerns. Juliet couldn't look at them. It made her feel good that Carlton had so much support, but she couldn't look at them. She would start crying again, and she wouldn't be able to stop.

"Um…You're all here for…Detective Lassiter?" a voice said, and there was a great noise of shuffling feet and chairs moving back and people standing up. Juliet turned around immediately and pushed her way to the front, where the scrub-wearing doctor looked somewhat amazed at the number of people waiting to hear what he had to say.

He raised his hands. "It was touch and go, and I'll be honest, he's still in critical condition," he said. "We lost him twice and we've had him in emergency surgery most of the day. The next few hours are critical: _if_ he makes it that long…he'll probably pull through. But there are no guarantees, and I can't really give you his odds. I wouldn't put them _real_ high: he took a lot of internal damage. He's in a recovery room in our ICU right now, and he's completely out of it. Not to mention, Visiting Hours are way past over. Family, close friends, are welcome to stay in the ICU waiting room overnight if you want to be there for news. There are couches you can sack out on."

Juliet had let out a strangled half-sob at the words "I wouldn't put them _real_ high" and struggled now to keep herself under control long enough for the doctor to finish relaying his information.

"Um…is Detective Lassiter of any specific religion?" the doctor asked, and Mrs. Lassiter spoke up in her rusty, three-pack-a-day voice.

"He's Catholic," she said.

"We have a priest we call in on occasions like this, if you'd like," the doctor said. "He could come in, say a few prayers…and whatever's necessary."

 _Whatever's necessary. Like the Last Rites?_

"I bet Father Wesley would come," Gus said, slapping Shawn on the arm.

"I don't want some random cassock-monkey praying over my boy," Myrna Lassiter said. "I want _our_ priest to do it. Monsignor Luccio Vannoni."

"Dude, what's an Irish Catholic family doing with a Spanish priest?" Shawn whispered to Gus.

"I'm pretty sure that 'Luccio' and 'Vannoni' are both _Italian_ names, Shawn," Gus whispered back. "'Monsignor' means he's head of their church, and maybe of another few smaller churches nearby, and reports directly to the bishop of the diocese."

" _Burma!"_ Shawn said back in an abrupt whisper that was nearly a shout despite not being terribly loud, and they both broke up laughing.

" _Shut up,_ guys," Juliet said over her shoulder.

"If you want to call your own priest, that's fine too," the doctor said, ignoring the noise. We just offer, in case there's a distance or time issue."

 _A priest,_ Juliet thought. _To pray over him, the lapsed Catholic, who can't accept an adorable Pope. To pray over him, or give him Last Rites. Dear God, don't take him from me. Don't take him from me._

She couldn't take it anymore. She slumped to the ground, weeping openly. She didn't know at first who picked her up and held her, but wasn't overly surprised to discover she was crying into the western shirt of Hank Mendel. The old cowboy patted her on the shoulder and rubbed her back but didn't try to shush her.

-…-…-…-


End file.
